The Guest, Part I
by Galae
Summary: Hogwarts had provided hospitality (and refuge) for many over the years. But some guests are more unusual than others . . . and Harry will receive a very special surprise.
1. Arrival

I didn't really know where this story was going when I started. I still don't know. Looking for a plot . . . have you got one?

Harry's sixth year. 

It's the middle of March, and the N.E.W.Ts are coming up, but look who comes to visit . . .

NOTE: This story will be rated "R" in later days. Its sequels (yes, there are sequels) will be rated NC-17. Just a word of warning so that I won't be responsible for "luring" ten-year-olds into the NC-17 category.

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The Guest

Part I, Chapter 1

The story of James and Harry

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by Galae

James saw it as clearly as the day he first arrived. Hogwarts.

Except it was twenty years later. 

"Father."

Harry woke up, the word dying on his lips.

"Harry?" he heard a soft mumble from the bed next to his. "Whazza matter?"

"I don't know." Harry shook his head slowly, sitting up. "I just—I just woke up."

"And that's because . . .?" Ron was awake now. Harry turned to look at him. His friend's coppery hair was tousled beyond recognition from the restfulness of night.

"I don't know." Harry repeated.

"Is not the scar, is it?" Ron asked, still drowsy.

"No. Go back to sleep, Ron. You still have another two hours."

"If you say so . . ."

The next sound Harry heard was his even breathing. He lay back down and looked at Ron. His ivory skin shone in the deepness of the sky that only occurred before dawn.

"Harry."

Harry opened his eyes.

"Harry."

He bolted upright.

"Oh my God!"

Harry recognized that face. The Mirror of Erised. And yet—and yet he refused to believe it.

It was real. He didn't need to pinch himself as Muggles often do. It was real.

And yet so unreal.

How could he believe it?

"Father . . .!"

James stepped closer to the boy lying on the bed. He was so small, he thought. So, so small. And now, he looked even smaller with that pale gasp upon his face. 

My son. 

"Hello, Harry."

Harry quavered. There he was, his father. Just standing there, not an apparition, not the ghostly whiteness, but as real and as mortal as the boy sleeping next to him. He couldn't bring himself to speak. A million thoughts ran through his head, but still . . .

"Is that really you?" he said, shaking.

"Yes."

"It can't be. You're dead. You've been dead for fifteen years now."

"I know. But something happened. It brought me back . . . for how long, I don't know. But I am here now, and I've come to see you. Harry Potter. My son." 

Harry felt a heart attack coming on.

James's touch, which he had been dreaming of for fifteen years. Harry closed his eyes and hugged his father.

"I love you, father."

"You must go."

"Why?"

"It's not safe here. If Dra—if any Slytherin saw you—it's too dangerous."

"Harry." James said, brushing back a strand of hair identical to his own. "Do you truly believe that I'd give up meeting you for mere caution? I've been dead, and now I'm alive for a few days, and I am worried about my safety? Harry, Harry, Harry . . . I'd give up the world for you."

The first thought on Harry's mind was selfishness. He clung on to his father and said no more.

"What I am worried about is you," said James aloud. "You are right. I can't stay here."

"What? No!" Harry protested. "You can't go."

James sighed.

If only he was invisible to all others . . . 

Invisible. "You'll have to wear it. The Invisibility Cloak." Harry thrust a hand down under his bed and folded it into James's hands. "There you go. The other students won't see you, and neither would the teachers. They wouldn't suspect anything."

"Harry? Who are you talkin' to?"

"Hurry, put it on!" Harry whispered urgently. James didn't need further inducing. With a wink, he was gone. 

"Harry?"

"Yes Ron?"

"Who was that?"

"Who was what?" Harry put on a smile. "Oh, you mean . . . I was just talking to myself."

Ron looked at him. Harry saw from the corner of his eye the dormitory door opening and closing.

"You better stop," Ron said. "Or else Malfoy would seriously get on your case. Harry? Harry? Why are you smiling like that? You're starting to look like Lockhart."

"I just had a nice dream."

His father was something strange now. Harry remembered the Dursleys. They weren't very religious, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, but he did recall that Vernon's parents were. Everytime he was forced to go over to their house for Christmas, the old couple would start rattling off Bible verses by the dozen, giving him the look that said they were sure Jesus didn't mean that ALL children were precious. Their house was plastered with religious quotes and pictures. 

There was one picture that struck his memory now. It was kind of boring, actually, with a scene of a monastery. Underneath it said, "The Lord is in this house. At every meal, at every conversation, at every step. His Presence is not seen but FELT."

That was his father, Harry thought. His presence is not seen but felt.

He felt his father's eyes on him. It was more like the feeling of a _guardian_, not a stalker. Still, that did not stop him from being on his best behavior.

Hermione was the first to notice. "Say, Harry, you have not cracked one joke at Snape today," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. Too quickly. He smiled as truthfully as he could. "I had a strange night."

"I'd say," Ron grumbled. "Woke me up two times just when I'm having a _really _nice dream about Fleur—"

"I didn't need to know that," said Hermione.

"Ah, you're just jealous cause you're not in it," Ron responded wickedly.

"You wish."

"Hah!"

It was quite nice to hear them bickering. Harry grinned.

James looked at Harry. How happy he seemed to be! With a friend by each side, practically glowing with amusement. That red-haired boy bore a striking resemblance to Arthur. In fact, it would be very likely that it's Arthur's son. What a surprise there . . . 

He quickly stepped back to avoid crashing into the students that have poured into the corridor. Yes, he thought, Harry is very happy here.

"Oh, an owl!" Hermione exclaimed. "I wonder what it brought!"

Harry quickly opened the note. He did not recognize the hand, but his heart quickened anyways. He knew whom it was from. 

"_Harry, please meet me at ten tonight. The Marauder's Map would show you the way._"

"What does it say?" Ron asked.

As quickly as he opened it Harry folded up the piece of parchment. "Um, Hagrid wants to see me tonight," he whispered. 

"You're going," Hermione said with more than a hint of disapproval.

"Yes." He hated, absolutely hated, lying to them. Especially to Ron. But it can't be helped. 

"Hey, I think that owl's expecting an answer," Ron said. "A real beauty, he is, too. Funny, it doesn't look like Hagrid's owl." 

Harry ignored the hidden question and took out a small piece of parchment. "_All right,_" he scribbled. It was then that he realized how much his handwriting resembled his father's. Harry smiled, and attached it to the owl. The owl flapped his wings and rose into the air.

Neither Harry nor Hermione realized that the owl looked strikingly like Dumbledore's.

"Father?"

"I'm here," James said. "I'm glad you made it."

"How did you know I have the Marauder's Map?" Harry said curiously.

"Albus."

"_Dumbledore?!_" Harry exclaimed. "He knows that you're here?"

"He was the first one I met. Albus was the one who told me where your dormitory was." James could not stop smiling. "In case something happens, it would be wise that he knows."

"Yes. Wait a minute—how does Dumbledore know that I have the map?"

James's eyes sparkled. "Dumbledore knows everything, Harry."

"Good golly," Harry said. "Oh—this is so unreal. So unreal. I'm talking to my father. Wait . . . can I call you Dad?"

"I'd love it," James responded.

"So, who is the brunette girl?"

"Brunette? Oh, you mean Hermione. Her name's Hermione Granger and she's Muggle-born. She's the first in our class, you know . . . I think that she's going to finish the entire Hogwarts library before she leaves this school." Harry laughed and shook his head. "I don't know how she does it."

"You know, your mother—Lily—she loved books too," James said.

"She was Head Girl and you were Head Boy."

"Yes." James replied. 

"Dad?" Harry's voice quivered lightly. "Could you tell me about Mum?"

James stroked his hair, staring out into space absently. He paused for a moment before speaking. 

"Your mother was the loveliest, kindest person I have ever known. I fell in love with her vivaciousness. She simply never let a day go by without accomplishing something. Your mother had too much love to be contained by one person. So when we found out that she was expecting—we were ecstatic. She was thrilled by the notion of bringing another soul into this world. She used to read you stories when you were not even born . . . stories of mermaids and fairies, hoping that when you finally arrived into our world that you'd come with the magic of those tales. 

"She loved you so much. So much."

"I know," Harry whispered.

"Yes. Voldemort. You managed to survive him that day . . . and four times after. I am so proud of you, Harry. So proud."

Harry stared at his father. His hair was dark, like his, and he kept on pushing his glasses upwards to keep them from sliding down. He's young, Harry thought. Very young. He must have no aged. Yes, this is what he looked like when he—died. 

"Dad? How much do you know about . . . _that_ day?"

James shook his head. "That's the strangest thing, Harry. I don't remember anything about the day. It's almost like it was erased from my memory. I don't recall it at all."

"So you remember when you died?"

"Honestly, I didn't even know that I died before Dumbledore told me." James replied. "I remember Voldemort, of course. And I remember you lying in your cradle. But that day—I don't know." Then, with much swiftness, he reached over and parted Harry's hair. 

"So that is the scar."

"Yes," Harry said, unable to nod. He felt James run his fingers over it. "Oh, Dad, sometimes it hurts . . . it hurts so much. That is only when Voldemort was near. There's so much of him in me, Dad. Sometimes I feel like I exist because of him. Especially with the fact that I'm a Parseltongue and everything . . . and oh yes, the Sorting Hat . . . it was going to put me in Slytherin until I asked to be put in somewhere else . . . I don't know . . . sometimes I just feel so shameful."

"Harry," James said sternly, "you don't have to be ashamed of yourself. Whatever Voldemort put into you, it is no matter until you make the decisions that make it matter. It isn't so much what you have but what you do with what you have."

"Dumbledore said that same thing." Harry spoke.

"Dumbledore is a wise man," James told him. "I am very thankful to have him watching over you."

"Him and Sirius," Harry added.

"Sirius." At his name James paused. "Is he still alive?"

"Very much so. He escaped from Azkaban. And then I found out that he was really innocent, and Pettigrew was guilty."

"Peter?" James looked thunderstruck. "I knew that Sirius was innocent, but . . . oh . . . well, it's no matter anymore. You say that Sirius escaped?"

"Yes. He came here—only that he had to go quickly after I discovered who was really guilty."

"He's your godfather, Harry. Do you still speak with him?"

"We-ll, I do send him a few letters now and then. But I try not to, so that he wouldn't be put in danger."

"Thoughtful—just like Lily," James said.

"Dad, I miss you . . . I miss you so much." 

And then James just held him as he sobbed.

It had been a full week. 

Harry wondered just how much time his father had.

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Look for Chapter 2, coming out next week.

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OK, I've decided to make the post-fic note more interesting. It's a new feature called "Same Name Bit." For the next, like, eight fics (or until my supply runs out), I'm going to be putting in a little note about the names in Harry Potter and where they're derived from. Some of these you might know, some of them you might not. So here's this week's:

SAME NAME BIT— 

Sirius, as I mentioned in "Marauder's Song", is a rather starry name. But I seemed to have got it wrong. It is actually the name of ONE star, not several as I thought. According to the astronomy world, it is the brightest star in our sky (heh, but us Marauder slash writers already knew that, didn't we?) and it's in the constellation—you guessed it—Canis Major, or the Big Dog. Clever of Rowling to use it, since Sirius's animal when transforming is a dog.


	2. Author's Apology for Delay

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A letter of apology for all my readers…

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Last week two of my classmates were killed in a car accident. I haven't been able to write as much because of this. I apologize for the delay, I hope you will all understand.

I will try my best to update next week, but in these circumstances I can't promise much.

Thank you for all your support.

Sincerely, 

Galae


	3. Departure

I never wrote a disclaimer

I never said "no blamers"

but if you could see I'm no poet

You're smart enough to know it

Wow, Poe's impressed.

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The Guest

Part I, Chapter 2

The story of James and Harry

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by Galae

"Divination," Harry announced, "is the bane of my existence."

James laughed. "It was the weakest link in my chain when I was sixteen too."

At times like that, Harry just wanted to hug him. And he did.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to see Sirius?" 

James jolted a bit at the question. He was so surprised that he didn't notice the quaver in Harry's voice. "Uh . . ." The word died at his lips and for once he was speechless. Suddenly, he looked very young and very confused.

"I mean, if you want to . . ."

"I do," James said quickly. "Do you know where he is?"

"No," Harry confessed. "But Hegwig does. If you really want to, I'll send him a letter."

"Please do."

The next day at breakfast, when Dumbledore walked past the Gryffindors he stopped next to Harry. "Your father won't be able to meet you tonight. He's gone to see Sirius. He'll be back tomorrow."

Harry tasted disappointment, but he swallowed and reminded himself that _he_ was the one who suggested it in the first place. "Thank you," he whispered. 

Dumbledore nodded and proceeded to walk again.

That night was hard. Going to sleep, wondering where his father is. And whether he'd ever see him again.

James had gone to see Sirius. His best friend. Harry kept on telling himself that.

After all, what if you haven't seen Ron for seventeen years?

It would be hell to go through seventeen years without Ron.

But still.

His dad was with _Sirius._

Another day.

Harry didn't really know what to think anymore.

He heard a small flutter around his window, and knew that his dad was back again.

James came back to Hogwarts.

"James," Dumbledore said. "You don't have much time left. Do you know that?"

James placed both hands on his knees. Dumbledore lifted his half-moon spectacles and sighed. Great Merlin, why does it always have to end like this? He looked at James through the spectacles. He looked exactly like he had seventeen years ago, the tall, unruly-haired Head Boy.

He had sat in that exact seat, Dumbledore remembered, his last year. He had put his hands on his knees. When I told him that his mother had died.

He knows.

James nodded.

"How much time?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle.

"A day. And a night."

"How do you know."

James shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I just feel it—I feel it in my heart. Whatever brought me back, it will come and claim me tomorrow morning."

Dumbledore said nothing, only looked at him. 

"Do you want me to exempt Harry from the rest of the classes today?" he asked.

"No." James answered quickly, as if expecting it all along. "No. I will talk to him. Tonight."

"All right," Dumbledore said. 

James stood up. With a pang, Dumbledore realized that the boy towered over him. 

"Headmaster," said James with a small smile. "Thank you for everything. You've been . . . everything. I'm sorry for all the trouble that we had made. And I just . . . I just want to so that you've always been my hero."

"James." What else could he say?

"Good-bye, Headmaster," James said. "Thank you."

"You're leaving, aren't you?" 

James looked at his son is nothing less than perfect awe.

Harry smile. A little. "You're forgetting, Dad, that I share half of your genes."

To him, the laugh he gave sounded weak. "How silly of me."

There was an awkward silence.

"So you are."

"Yes."

Harry said nothing, only leaned over and hugged him.

James thought his heart was going to break.

"I'm going to go tomorrow morning," James said, voice crackling. "At dawn. Exactly the minute that I came."

"Oh Dad."

Now a tear came, rolling down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry."

"Whatever for?" He felt Harry's voice tremble as well.

"For everything. God, Harry, I saw it all . . ."

Harry pulled back a little, searching his father's face for explanation. "What? Saw what?"

"You were with Sirius, weren't you?" It wasn't an accusation, but a question. "You loved him."

"Yes," said Harry, slowly. "Yes. I was."

"Did he love you too?"

"Oh, Merlin, of course he did," Harry said. "Dad, I know what you're going to say . . . that it's wrong, that I shouldn't have done it, that he's my godfather, and he's twice my age. But I don't care . . . I loved him, and he loved me too. That was all I needed."

James smiled. "I can't blame you, Harry. He's the most wonderful person I have ever known—besides your mother." He looked at his son. "And Ron? Do you love him?"

This time Harry gasped. "Am I that obvious?"

"You forget, Harry, that I share half of your genes," said James. "Do you?"

"I think so."

James folded him into his arms again. "Oh, God, Harry, I'm sorry. That is what I'm sorry for. We were never there—we were never there to hold you and raise you and love you. That's why you're searching for love. God, I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry."

"Dad, don't be." Harry was sobbing. "I love them. I would have loved them even if you lived. Dad, stop blaming yourself. It's not your fault. It's _not your fault._"

James cried.

"It's starting," his father said, voice shaking. "I have to go."

"No!" Harry wailed. He felt James shivering under his fingers. "Don't go! Dad, don't leave me!"

James gave him a pleading look. "I can't . . . I can't . . . God! Harry . . . I'm sorry . . ."

A flash. James shuddered.

"I love you . . . Harry . . . I love you."

Another flash. James was almost translucent. Harry watched with horror as his mouth opened but his words were becoming fainter and fainter.

"Never forget that . . . no matter what, Harry, I will be with you . . . I will always be with you . . . Harry, my son."

And then he was gone.

Harry walked to his bed. He climbed on to it, and stopped when he brushed against something cool and slippery.

He reached for it and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak.

Now the tears that he thought he had already cried out welled into his eyes again. Down they came, cursing down his cheeks, tasting salty and watery at the same time. 

Harry brushed them away. A lump grew in his throat, until at last he sobbed into his pillow, clutching the Cloak.

Voldemort, he cried, Voldemort, I'll kill you. One day, I'll kill you . . . for everything that you've done to world. For everything you've done to me. I'll kill you, and then no child would ever have to go through this again. Never.

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I love you.

Harry heard his father's voice, echoing in the back of his mind. The tears slowed.

I love you too, Dad.

So it was true. 

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No matter what, Harry, I will be with you.

I know.

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I will always be with you.

Thank you, Dad.

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Harry, my son.

Harry dried the tears on his face. Slowly, mechanically, he folded the Cloak and pushed it under his bed again. Then he looked out the window.

There, upon the horizon, were the beginnings of the gold-streaked dawn.

The darkest part of the day had gone.

* * *

Okay, I am running out of artistic pleads for reviews. 

Pl-eeeaase give feedback. I love feedback. I live for feedback. I tell myself I'm stupid twenty times a day so I don't mind if someone else says it for a change.

I'm one poor writer—I'm the O. Henry of fanfiction.net. Or Thoreau (except I don't live by a pond and the only philosophy I've ever came up with is that the world's not fair). Anyways, I can't pay for the support services so therefore I have NO IDEA how many people have read this unless they review. Just think of this as a quaint little English inn where you sign the guestbook and leave a little comment so they can keep track of the people coming in and going out. I'm much happier when you sign the "Guest"-book and much happier me means you've done your good deed of the day.

I'm done now.

SAME NAME BIT—

Harry, or Harold, means "army ruler." According a name-meaning site that I went to, anyone named Harry is "very individual, reserved, serious nature. You stick stubbornly to your ideas or decisions, in spite of any appeals or advice; you are not willing to accept a compromise." I hope I'm not insulting your intelligence by saying that Potter means potter. Most English names are derived from the Middle Ages, when people gained last names by their occupations. Millers had ancestors that milled grain. Taylor means a tailor. Smiths had blacksmith forefathers. So Potter means that in some distant past Harry's ancestors were potters. Another last-name derivation is Johnson, which means John's son. Same with Peterson (Peter's son), et cetera. The only one I'm unsure of is Anderson. Does that mean Ander's son literally, or is Anders a form of Andrew?


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